


The Mockingbird and His Apprentice

by LordPetyrBaelish



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordPetyrBaelish/pseuds/LordPetyrBaelish
Summary: When Littlefinger helps Sanas escape he takes her to the Vale. There she will learn how to play the game, just like him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Trust](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/353625) by Funnyfia2. 



Sansa sat out on the balcony in the west wing of the castle. Her hair was dark and billowed around her shoulders in the cold wind. The light dusting of snow leapt off the ground to swirl around her. However, her countenance did not reflect the playfulness of the white powder. It was firm and pale, her eyes surrounded by dark circles. If you listened carefully she seemed to sigh in unison with the wind, equally as heavy hearted.

She was listing through her various memories. It was something she had tried hard not to do. Petyr expressly taught against emotion. It was fine to feel it, but never to show it. Yet when Sansa thought of the myriad things that had happened to her in the capital her face turned sour. Her features strayed from the safety of the blank face and twisted, allowing tiny tears to leak from her eyes. Sansa thought it impossible for her to cry anymore. After all of the tears that had leaked from her eyes over the past year and a half it seemed they were empty. And still they produced salty little morsels to stream down her cheeks and freeze before they reached her chin.

While her mind wandered she thought of the night she had been whisked away by her new protector Lord Protector. How Ser Dontos had brought her to the ship, rowing her away from King's Landing as their shouts filled the night air. She was pulled up onto a ship from the dingy they had rowed across in. Her feet swayed beneath her and they steady hands of Lord Baelish rest lightly on hers as he helped her past the railing and onto the deck.

She watched him in shock as she stumbled for words. With nothing to say she walked over to lean and help Dontos. He had looked to Baelish for a response who had merely thanked him and flicked his hand at a man to the side. The air hissed and Dontos fell back in the dingy dead and arrows shot through his chest. Sansa had opened her mouth to scream, but Petyr's light hand had already clamped down across her lips. 

"Quite sweetling," He spoke softly in her ear, his breathe tickling down her neck. "It'll be for not if they hear you scream out here. Do you want to go home then?"

Sansa nodded, grasping at his forearm for support. He grinned from ear to ear and plucked his hand away softly, moving it down to rest on her shoulder he began steering her towards the lower decks of the ship.

"Rest now," He commended as they came to a cabin beneath the steps. "It's a long journey to the Vale."

Sansa blinked to find herself still in the middle of the snow. She was cold, the wind bit through her thick dressings. Layers of wool and fur seemed to do nothing when you were this high up. Sansa though of going inside, but it was colder in the castle. It was drafty yes, but it reminded her of the place she had just left. Machinations seemed to bounce off of the walls like footsteps and made her spine tingle. At least in King's Landing the air hadn't been so thin. These things were noticeable there, but only if you watched for them.

Her last months there were filled with only that. Sansa recalled how she looked upon the city in the distance with wonder. That had been before the smell had reached her, of course, Yet there it had stood; the Red Keep towering above on the hill side, a symbal of power then. The Red Keep now was a reminder of the time she had been stripped on it's floors. A landmark of her pain and suffering ranging from her father's death to that knight being shot in his dingy for saving her.

No, she couldn't think like that now. No use in crying over the past as her tutor might say. Besides, she wasn't the girl who had been nearly raped by a mad man, nor embarassed by the incestous Queen Cersei. Instead she was Alayne Stone. An innocent bastard whose father was going to give her everything.

The soft padding of feet in snow interrupted her reminiscing. Oh yes here comes "Sweetrobin" to have his little fits in my lap. Sansa thought. What enjoyable activity might he have in store for me today?

Instead she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, the same hand that had pulled her from the fears King's Landing held. Her eyes followed the fingers, to the arm, to the face of Lord Baelish. He stood over her smiling sadly at her, his eyes transfixed on her like they had gone out of focus while looking at her. It was the way he often looked at her when no one was watching. It left a chill to wiggle down her spine and put her hair on end. 

"It's far too cold out here," He scolded, "I must insist my daughter not catch cold. Who might I trust to watch the Vale when I leave on my trips?"

"Have you been called away again then?" She inquired, turning her face out over the vast expanse of mountain. 

"No," He shook his head, his fingers stroking the darker hair away from her face. "You do look beautiful among the snow."

"That is very kind of you father." Alayne bowed her head while Sansa grinned on the inside.

"Good girl,"

His hands fell to her waist, where he pulled her onto her feet. His arm wrapped around her side as he escorted the two back into the mountain castle.

"It's all well and good to keep up appearances in public," He smiled casually at her. She could see the visible change in his eyes as he regarded her. "But there is no need here, now. Out in the open air we might call each other what we like."

"My apologies Lord Baelish." Sansa's head fell to her chest. " I was only worried someone might spot us." It had always scared Sansa of being caught and having to face the world on her own again. She still had much to learn from Petyr and wasn't ready to leave him. Lord Baelish chuckled slightly and looked her in the eyes.

"Not in such a secluded area you have picked my dear. Tell me, are you hiding from your little cousin then?" He said with a wide grin.

"No never," She allowed herself to smirk.

Petyr's eyes lighted with mischief and pride. "My little wolf has found her sense of humour out here in the cold then?"

His brow furrowed as he scrutinized her face, his hand tangling in her hair. 

"Have you been crying again?"

"I was only thinking of..."

"I told you not to think of it." He snapped, his eyes darkening dangerously.

Sansa began to panic. She had watched him push her aunt from that door in the middle of the floor. What if she weren't a good enough student, if she was no longer the pawn he wanted her to be. 

IN a strange moment of clarity she straightened and looked up at the man before her.

"Not of that, but how you saved me from that wretched place. I was only thinking of what would have happened to me if you had not taken me under your wing. It can be... truly frightening." She allowed herself a little sob to escape from her mouth as her eyes cast down to the snow covered stone.

Petyr's fingers laced under her chin, tilting to make her meet his eyes. That frightening stare had been quickly replaced with the softest gleam. His earlier lesson echoed in her head, there are only the players and the pawns for the players to move. If his knowledge had taught her anything it was to choose to be a player. And so Sansa Stark would play this lovely little man, whom betrayed his own lessons everytime she was around.

"My young wolf grows stronger everyday." He grinned and let his arm fall back to his side. "You should know better than to play me. But what a sweet story you cooked up. It'd be devilish if I were to ignore such an effort. without a reward."

His hands went from his sides back to her hips to pull her close. His eyes fluttered as he bent to kiss her. His lips were warm against the cold. His kisses more precise than that of Ser Dontos which had been sloppy. Sansa could feel his hands on her hips, the warmth for him. It was more comfort than she had allowed herself to feel than when Margery had rescued her from the marriage with Joffrey.

Though Lord Baelish was sly and impossible to read. He at least allowed her to feel safe. It as not a lie when she had said she was thankful he had saved her. She often thought of what could have happened if she remained in King's Landing. He could see through her, it was true. But perhaps not as well as he thought. 

Her hands were timid at first, but they soon found their way to him. She held the Lord Protector of the Vale against her in attempt at human contact. He pulled away slightly, his eyes wide and confused. The Stark could watch him change in an instant, Littlefinger was replaced with a child like wonder that could be seen in Petyr at times. His grin widened and pulled her close again, his head buried in her shoulder.

There was always a game afoot with Lord Baelish. Sansa felt she might like to a play a round. After all, what fun was there in merely watching the pawns move.


	2. The Young Wolf Plays The Game

Sansa attempted to stay alone as much as possible the next few weeks. After Petyr had left for business outside of the Vale, she was charged with occupying Sweetrobin. It was an unpleasant responsibility. He was a spoiled child, weak and fretful. Often times his temper tantrums would turn into his frightful little fits. She had confided in Petyr before he left, nearly begging him not to leave her in the Vale. In response he had merely repeated his previous statement.

"If you are not here, sweetling, whom can I trust to act as the protector in my stead?"

She knew that the hardest part about running the Vale was attempting to watch over the dying little lordling. He would crawl into her bed most nights, attempting to such milk from her breasts. When his mother, Lysa, was alive she had encouraged it in him. Sansa fancied that his weakness stemmed from that and she often worried that now he would adapt without it and grow stronger. 

She was well aware of what would happen if they boy failed to keep his end of the bargain; to die in a timely manner. She would have to wed the nasty little thing. Her fingers cut into her palms as she pondered what it would be like to have to marry him. Even as her new, stronger self, Alayne, it would be an immense burden. Bedding the craven would break her, she was sure of it. 

And what of Petyr? Would her Mockingbird allow such a thing? Sansa's mind wandered comfortingly toward her only friend in the castle that was now far away. He had been gone for nearly two months now and he'd not sent back any correspondence either. She meant to do something about hat as soon as he returned. It hurt Sansa that she was so worried about him, she knew that she need him more than he needed her. Sansa had created a detailed plan to follow for this venture. She'd greet him and she would begin the grand manipulation that she had thought over in her head plenty of times. Sansa Stark would demand news from the outside world. It was information she was sure he knew of. Next she would demand a meeting with her betrothed Harry Hardying. And thus the plan would continue, she would manipulate that devilish little man. Sansa Stark would hold him ransom, because now she knew what she wanted. As he'd told her before that was the key to controlling your pawns. And her pawn was what he would become.

Sweetrobin spotted her walking among the drafty hallways. He waved excitedly and walked as fast as he could without exerting himself terribly. She applied Alayne's smile to her face and bent in her thick woolen gown to greet him as he came towards her. He stopped short suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height and then lowering into a deep bow.

"My lady," He greeted genially.

"My lord," She returned, sinking into Alayne's common curtsy.

"How do you fare this day?" He grinned at her and clapped his hands together.

"I'm very well and yourself?" She said. Well it was very well until you came Sweetrobin she thought to herself.

"I'm quite good. Father has come home. He's brought all sorts of wonders. You should see, Alayne. I saw many dresses for you and for me he's brought me back new blunt swords to practice with."

Alayne's heart pumped faster in her chest. Baelish was home and it was time she put her pawn to work. Sansa was sure that she could get the information she needed about the outside world. She needed to know what was happening in Winterfell and what happened to her siblings. If they were in Winterfell, then it was Winterfell that she needed to go to. Her mother helped her to an advantage over the cunning man, especially since Sansa had the gift of looking quite like her.

"Well we must go out and greet our Lord Father then," Alayne grabbed the boy's hand tugging him lightly toward the entrance hall of their grand castle they called home.

As it with any castle or keep, it took time to get to places. Thus, Alayne and Sweetrobin arrived just as Lord Baelish and his collection of supplies from far off lands had reached the top of the mountain to enter the castle. She heard his voice rise above the room, his raspy voice echoing against the walls before she actually saw the slight man. 

Petyr seemed to find her as he rounded the corner. He had been looking for her. His sharp green eyes focused and his impossibly confident strides covered the distance between them quickly.

"My lovely daughter," He commended as his hands clapped on her shoulders. He lowered his head to grant a chaste kiss on her lips. Petyr's grin widened while his eyes rested carefully on her, linger longer than was proper for father and daughter.

Just as quickly as he found her his attentions moved to the little boy by her side. He began quizzing him, asking questions about his lessons over the months he had been gone. It was an interesting relationship the two had, the boy looking up to the only father figure he had ever known. While the father awaited the boys death without patience. 

"I suppose you already know what I've brought home for you then?" Petyr smiled widely at the box of loot by his side.

Robin nodded quickly and Petyr pointed to a cart that the boy wandered up to. Demanding his prizes be brought down to his chamber. 

"What a charming child." Petyr remarked coldy. Shooting a quick grin toward Sansa. She returned the smile she had practiced. Petyr flicked his hand at his men, notifying them of his leave of absence. Petyr wrapped his arms warmly around Alayne's shoulders guiding her towards the heart of the castle. 

"Come my dear," He commanded, steering her away from the entrace hall. "There are some matters to attend to."

"Yes I suppose there is." She said quietly.

He chuckled darkly as he looked at her. "Are you angry with me?"

She crossed her arms and looked ahead in reply. He stopped, his eyes wavering as he turned her roughly towards him.

"Tell me now." He purred, "I won't allow you to treat me so. You won't keep me guessing."

"Not returning for months on end without a shred of correspondence is not a good reason to be angry? My apologies for my misplaced judgment, then." She glared into his stabbing green gray eyes. "Is your curiosity slated them? Can we continue to our business?"

"Oh how flattering." He pressed her shoulder lightly, escorting her down the corridor. "Were you worried about me? Or perhaps you're just as hungry as I for information."

"Are you going to share then?" She snapped at him as they reached his solar. He shut the door behind them and went to sit by the fire. He must've ordered his fire to be prepared for his arrival, for it burned brightly. "Or are you to keep teasing me? Keeping me in the dark."

"I'll always be teasing you. I can only hope you're in suspense." His eyes flitted darkly toward her, his impish grin spreading across his face.

Sansa felt herself blush without permission. She turned away, angry with herself. It was crucial that she had self control. This was her turn to be in charge now, not his.

"I've been thinking, sweetling. Merely, considering some future steps." He began slowly. 

Sansa busied herself with pouring wine for the both of them so that she might regain her composure. She brought the two fine crystalline glasses over, handing one to him and sitting herself at the foot of his chair by the fire. 

Petyr took a careful sip of wine and his eyes flung downward to pierce her again. At times they could be so friendly, framed with one of his famous smiles. But now, they were as scrutinizing and mischievous as ever. Sharp and dangerous, just like the mind she sat in front of. 

"Come now, I don't want to seated on the cold stone." His lips pulled into his half moon smirk. "Not when your father has a perfectly good knee to be occupied."

His graceful hand reached down to help her off the cold stone and pull her firmly into his lap. He leaned back into the large chair, pulling Sansa's side against him. His hand rested possessively on her head against his chest, the other resting lightly on her thigh, balancing his glass.

"Before you're wedded to your dearly betrothed Harry. I want to take you on a trip with me. You're proving a much faster learner than I had hoped. You might call our next escapade a test of your abilities."

He licked his lips distractedly while watching her lay in his lap. His hand brushed her hair lightly, fingers running along her temples. Sansa felt herself relax slightly in his arms. It was a truth that he was her only friend here, both a blessing and a curse. He made for a poor confidant and at the same time a great one. 

"Oh my, we'll have to die your hair again it seems. Quite a bit a of red coming back into it now. I must admit though I'll be relieved when we wash this dull brown and see that true shade again."

He hoisted himself slightly, turner to look at her closer. His fingers slid down the length of her jaw to stroke her neck. She could feel the warm, light touch of his fingertips as well as the cold rings which held onto his fingers.

"You should do it tonight before you get ready for the dinner this evening." He commanded.

"Dinner? An event?" She asked, her voice breathier than she intended. His jaw seemed to clench as she met his eyes. She adjusted her bottom, wiggling slightly. Sansa could visibly watch his eyes darken, his lashes fluttering. What a dangerous game to play.

"An event, certainly." He cleared his throat, his hands gripping her waist, attempting to re-postion her in a more comfortable fashion. But she held fast, the hand not holding the glass of wine lacing upwards to rest on his shoulder.

"Who will be there?" She asked, he own fingers dancing circles on his always covered collar bone. 

"From naval to collar bone you said?" She was nearly whispering, her voice filled with light breathe. She was careful to let it tickle past the well groomed beard onto his neck. Sansa could see the goose bumps rise on his throat, his adams apple bobbing. "And all for a woman. It wasn't about a piece on the board then. Hmm, how romantic."

"I used to think so," He commented as if he were speaking of the small changes in weather. His hands hoisted her thigh carefully, holding her still in his lap.

Sansa grinned at her Lord Protector, her fingers casually rose to pick at his high collar. She made a grave gace and looked to her feet hanging over the side of his knees. 

"I always thought she was foolish when I heard the story. She had a prince then, someone who wanted to save her. Protect her from harm and rise with her. Someone who wanted so dearly to love her. And instead she followed the rules, married duty. Her only bit of luck in life is that she married my father instead of Brandon. I can't imagine what might've changed had he survived. Her luck would run out there I suppose. Or perhaps it was the length of which her intelligence could stretch." Sansa spoke as if recalling a memory, more to herself than to him. But she watched his eyes cloud, his lips pressing slightly at the mention of her dead mother, his long lost love. 

"None the less, it was romantic. Something I don't think I'll ever know." She pulled herself off his lap after finishing the wine. "Tell me, Lord Baelish, is it a lonely life you breed me for?"

She was careful to scrunch her features in genuine worry, adding her strong grip on the wine glass as an afterthought. His jaw clenched as he regarded her, his eyes once wide and inviting now narrows into slits.

"It can't be." His eyes roamed from her toes to her head and back down again. "It's true, power won't warm your bed. But remember the ladder, my young wolf."

He lifted himself from the seat as well. Petyr seemed to walk directly towards Sansa, his face darkening as he came closer. At the last moment he turned towards his desk on the other side of the room, headed toward the decanter of wine waiting for him. It left his warm breathe on her face and she blushed again.

"Don't worry my sweetling, it's really not as lonely as it seems. You may be lucky enough after all to find what your mother could in such... plenty." He nearly sneered at the memory of her. 

Sansa watched how Petyr's face altered when he thought of Cat now. The clear sadness and anger, it frightened her more than the prospect of playing with a man such as him. What if she were to turn out like Petyr. It was true she fancied herself with legacy. Was Sansa not then doomed to live like him. Dreadfully lonely with nothing to warm her bed besides the whores from a brothel she owned.

"I suppose you wouldn't have an empty bed very often though..." Sansa pondered, stalking towards the wine decanter in his hand. She held her glass out to pour. His hand laced up over hers and peeled it away from her. "I would guess that owning a brothel has perks. Such as never finding your sheets cold. That is, if not a little soiled."

Petyr laughed openly at that. "And what would you know of soiling a bed, dear Sansa Stark. Oh yes! But I forgot you were married once weren't you. Tell me, what was it like to rut with the dwarf? I must know, is it proportional to the rest of him or as twisted as his legs?"

"You're right, Lord Baelish." Sansa smirked, her eyes fluttering. "I don't know anything about soiling a bed or how the dwarf was in bed."

"Then the marriage was not consummated, as you say?" He watched her slyly from the corner of his eye. His hand tipping the wine down his throat casually.

"No," She shook her head turning towards the door. 

He grabbed her arm and spun her towards him. "I think you're leaving without something crucial darling."

"Oh?" She blinked, legitimately surprised. Her bravery was wavering. She needed to leave the room. She could only taunt him for so long before he caught on.

"Well what was the point of your little seduction if not to earn your information?" His breath tickled her face as he leaned closer.

He turned away and went to sit again in his arm chair, spinning in his seat to watch her standing stock still a distance away. His half moon grin spread like a fungus across his face. Petyr was too good at the game for Sansa to trick him.

Petyr chuckled lightly, "Come now Sansa, you didn't think I wouldn't know what you were doing. A waste of time though I was going to tell you anyway."

He swirled the remainder of his wine in his glass before his green orbs returned to pierce her soul. "We're returning to Winterfell before your marriage. The boy will be taken care of by the time we get back. You'll be fit for the new Lord of the Vale. Your red hair flowing over your shoulderes as we display the last remaining dire wolf. By gods, what a prize you are, sweetling."

"I trust then you've brought new dye?" She inquired, attempting not to look completely stunned by this beautiful change of events.

"Of course, up in your chamber now with your new dress you'll be wearing this evening." He replied, all business and decorum again.

"Mmm," She nodded as he made her way toward the door. Sansa turned once more to find Petyr approaching again. "One last question..."

He purred again as he got closer, his hands resting lightly on her waist. Petyr raised his eye brows pointedly at her waiting for her response. 

"How are we going to reclaim Winterfell?" She asked, truly dazed. 

"All in good time," He chuckled, "Oh, but I promise it'll be great fun."

She turned to leave, but his hands clamped down, holding her still.

"You forgot something Alayne." He sighed as if she were being unruly. "Aren't you going to kiss your father after his long journey? After all, what news I've brought."

Sansa hesitated, her eyes had been resting safely from his, but now she had to look up. Petyr had eyes like green and grey daggers, her watched her with a mixture of greed and desire. She nearly shuddered but stopped herself. It was her game now just as much as his. And she would strive to play it was well as he, her teacher, her mockingbird.

Her hands crawled up the length of his chest to wrap around his neck and pull his head down to her. Sansa pressed her lips to his roughly. The little sound of surprise he made, forced her to smile against his. Petyr grew more eager, his hands pulling her closer to him, his tongue begging to entrance her lips. But she pulled away, resting her head under his chin.

"So nice to have you back Father." Sansa peeled his hands away from her sides and turned to the door, opening it quickly. She smiled back at him seeing the daggers that shot from his eyes.

"And it is a joy to see my daughter again." He replied from within his office. His bright voice didn't mat the dark look on his face. His lips forced up in his gruesome smile, his dark eyes and his hand clenched. He bit his lip as she waved goodbye and retreated to the safety of her own warm and inviting chambers.


	3. From Stone to Mockingbird

Sansa found her chamber filled with new dressed he had brought back for her. They were all beautiful winter gowns. One of them caught her eye as she searched through her new wardrobe. It was emerald green, however it wasn't one someone would call a winter dress. The green cloth was velvet and lined with fur, but there were cutouts all along the gown. Crafty little places to expose the satin like skin beneath. Sansa claimed it as her favorite right away. 

The gown reminder her of some of her only real friends that didn't live in the Vale. The beautiful red and gold embroidery around the neckline of the bodice brought fond memories back of her husband, Tyrion Lannister. The little man was monument of the only kindness a Lannister had shown her. At times Sansa's thoughts wandered to what might've became of their union had she not been separated from him so quickly. It grieved her even more that he was locked in a cell in King's Landing for a crime she and her new "protector" had committed. 

The gowns emerald green velvet and silks reminded Sansa of her partner in crime. The Mockingbird's colors were green and black, they matched his grey eyes and black heart. Sansa didn't think he had a black heart though or at least she denied it. He had saved her after all, whether there were unsavory intentions or not he had done it. Could it not be argued that a man's actions despite their hidden meaings, could be the judge of them? Alyane would be proud to wear her father's colors. Sansa would be proud to wear the gift as a symbol of her continued gratitude toward the man she intended to play with. 

It was the revealing cut that reminded her of her last friend. Margaery Tyrell was known for wearing scandalous pieces such as this. When the new queen would wear her less than modest gowns she was all confidence and poise. yet, Sansa couldn't remember a time when her dear friend was ever lacking those traits. Perhaps donning the garment would allow her the same traits, as if a lack of modesty were a key to bravery.

Sansa's white hands traced over the gown, letting the material shy away from her finger tips. This would be what she would tonight to Littelfinger's dinner. She would stomp into that room as a player instead of the pawn she was in King's Landing. The Stark could imagine now, the faces as she passed. The questions they would ask, all astonished that Lord Baelish had such a pretty bastard daughter. She imagined her graceful path through the dining room to her seat next to Petyr. How his eyes would roam over her in that familiar way. Sansa Stark couldn't wait to show the Vale what a prize the Lord Protector had. 

Her eyes moved away from her wardrobe towards her feather filled bed. A tiny piece of metal glittered when the sun shone on it. Sansa walked toward the shining and picked up a small silver mockingbird. She recognized it from every robe Littlefinger ever wore, always glowing brilliantly holding the collar together. Her eyes moved to a piece of paper on her bed and her name showing on the front. 

Alayne grabbed the piece of paper and read it outloud.

"It is time that Alyane Stone turns to Alayne Baelish. I'm sick of people treating you as a bastard that you are not. Wear this tonight to the dinner to celebrate the turning of a bastard. ~Father"

Her mind was turned to her studies soon after she finished her inventory of new winter gowns and trying on the silver mockingbird. It fit perfectly on the seducing emerald green gown and Sansa smiled. For now she would enjoy her chilly chamber, filled with beautiful things and heavy books. 

The day went by quicly as she skimmed the stories of the families of the Vale. It could be exceptionally boring, reading who married who and what children they managed to whelp before their demise. But Alayne Baelish allowed her child like mind to entertain her, weaving intricate back stories of dread and joy behind every name and union. Surely the histories wouldn't remember how she was tortured by her own infatuation and the one was was infatuated with in King's Landing. The books wouldn't tell of Petyr and how he whisked her away in the middle of the night after aiding in Joffrey's murder. They would simply tell of her marriage and maybe, if she was lucky, her reclaiming the North. 

Her mind was ripped from the thoughts with a quick knock on the door. It was probably her hand maiden, coming to dress and bathe her for the party tonight. He closed the book and stood by her bed waiting for her hand maiden. 

"Come in." Alayne called through the door. 

Her back was to the visitor as they entered. She had begun to shimmy out of her heavy woolen gown. It piled on the floor and she turned to the tub they'd just filled while she was reading. Her eyes focused on the steaming water and she waited for the hand maiden to untie the ties on her shift. 

A man cleared his throat and she jumped back with a quiet screech. Petyr sat with his smirk and his eye brow quirked upwards.

"Not very lady like to offer yourself to a man you're not married to." His eyes visibly darkened while he looked at her. "But then again, I suppose you've some clever excuse to cover up your intentions? Waiting for your hand maiden to bathe you was it?"

"Not an excuse!" Sansa hurried to pull her woolen gown up from the ground. "She'd just been here filling my bath."

"Yes I know." He nodded taking a step toward her. "I told her to. And then I told her that she should prepare for the feast and you could bathe yourself for today. She'll return in an hour to dress you, I imagine. 

"Why would I bathe myself?" Sansa asked cautiously. She was panicking internally. She'd been too inviting earlier. Her seductions convinced him to come to her chamber, searching for something. 

"You won't," Baelish shook his head a fraction, his eyes gleamed in the dimming light of the sun. "I'll help you. I came to assist with the dye."

He wiggled the contents of a dark bottle at her. "It's a new kind. Different than the others, you'll need help to apply it. However for the sake of modestly, I'll ask that you at least keep you shift on for the process."

Sansa sighed in relief and set her woolen dress to the side. This shift was new and meant for winter. It was thick and not too revealing though the silk hugged her curves. She could tell he was watching the way ti soothed over the rounding of her hips and breasts. Sansa was used to Petyr showing no shame in his affections for her form. 

"Thank you, Lord Baelish." She walked towards the large metal tub, the steam from the water warming her as she neared. Petyr met her there, he took off his glorious robe to leave him in only a dark cotton shirt and long pants. He dipped his hands in the water and looked at her expectantly. 

"Bend over." He commanded, a wet hand resting on her shoulder helping her lean over the tub. 

He began to run the dye through her hair in long streaks with his fingers. She could see Petyr's hands dip into the war to eht side of her head, long and graceful. His fingers massaged Sansa's scalp in soothing circles and she relaxed under his touch. She leaned down more heavily on the side of the rub, her body elongating behind her. Sansa could feel his though brush past her bum. His fingers hesitated and her entire body tightened at the contact. What was he meaning to do, standing so close back there. She had merely re-positioned herself, not shoved her ass against him. His soothing fingers continued their path through her locks and she relaxed once again. He turned her head to the side with his fingers so he might have better access to her temples. 

The warm water and the massage had worked her into a quite relaxation. She didn't even notice the moan that escape through her lips until it had reached her ears. Her eyes snapped open and she couldn't help but smile. How could the Stark forget her plans? She was being foolish, she could have in her grips again. Petyr Baelish was a man sorely in need of being put in his place and Sansa Stark fancied she was the one to do it. 

A surge of adventure pulsed through her and she started searching for contact with her rear. There just behind her rested his thigh. Instead of drawing away, this time she shimmied closer to it, careful to let out another little sound of pleasure. He positioned himself loosley, one leg between hers. Her grin widened, one more little shove and her cheeks were flush against his cock. 

Petyr let out a growl, his hands tangling in her hair and pulling roughly. She gasped in pain, her spine arching while her head tilted backwards. His other hand fell away from her hack and to her neck. Sansa let out a small whine, fear leaking through her limbs at their proximity.

He chuckled from behind her, "Don't bargain with what you aren't willing to give."

His voice came out gruff and just near her ear. Her skin raised in goose bumps and as began to pull away felt him thrust light against the back of her. Her mouth fell open in a sigh that she knew he heard. Sansa straigtened her back and turned to him. Petyr had retreated to the other side of the tub, washing his hands in the basin gently.

He looked past Sansa when his eyes raised, focusing on her nightstand. Petyr covered the distance and picked the book up, turning it in his palms. 

"Reading up, are you?" He sat down heavily on her bed. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I stay here to read a little myself?"

She merely blinked and in return he let out a little chuckle. Baelish stood and pulled a divider in front of the tub and her. Sansa heard him sit on the bed and the book opening as she stood stock still on the other end of the curtain. 

"Go on, sweetling. Rinse out the dye now and get washed up. I'll just be sitting and waiting for you."

So he tormented her on the side of the heavy drapes. She could hear him breathing, turning pages, shifting, all while she tried to focus on cleaning herself. When her hand maiden finally arrived he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he sat just as he had, chipping away at the huge volume in his lap. Her hand maiden had dressed her in the green gown and left her. Petyr stood up and held the mockingbird in his hand. 

Lord Baelish came close and pinned the mockingbird on the top of her dress. He grinned and held her face in his hand. Then he turned to the door and left without a word. 

As the door latched shut, Sansa felt herself breathe again. Per usual they had remained separated by a mere piece of cloth. Something built in her throat at first she thought it was how anxious she was to wear the scandalous gown, but then she realized it had been there while he rubbed her hair It as excitement, something she didn't think she'd truly feel again.


End file.
